So, where am I going with this? I suppose one instinctively knows if pouring out their soul to strangers is their calling in life. The hard part is finding the courage to place ourselves out there. I've taken some amazing steps towards this destination. I've admitted that I'm somewhat introverted and yet here I am opening my life to readers around the world. This month, I've had consistent hits from as far away as Russia, India, and Israel to name just a few (thank you, my friends). I've taken my writing to the stage and attempted amateur stand-up comedy. As of now, I'm not giving the stage up, just taking it in another direction; a direction which makes more sense for my comedic style (another blog, another day).
When I was a little girl, I started writing. It started out as poetry. Yes, some of what I wrote were the goofy "roses are red" rhyming do-dads which all 10 year olds are prone to hack out; however, there were some good ones - poems I wrote from the depths of my heart which seemed as if they were written by a much older soul. Pouring them out felt "right" somehow. I could convey feelings on paper which I could never say out loud. Written words made more sense; there was a certain ebb and flow to them. When I opened my mouth then (and still now) I always managed to botch everything up.
Back to my first paragraph. What did I write about on Wednesday that was so horrible I felt it necessary to destroy an hour and a half's worth of work? I was whining. Not that whining is unusual for me (especially for a Wednesday blog) but my complaining was more annoying than usual. It contained a certain high-pitch quality to it that even for the written word hurt my sensibilities. I felt compassion for you, my dear friends and blog readers, and quite frankly - I was quite over myself...DELETE.
During my first marriage, Jeff and I struggled financially as most young couples do. We found ourselves in constant search for an ever elusive dollar bill. Eventually, we became so desperate we ended up sitting in donation rooms twice a week draining our plasma for $30. After several months of this, I had to stop. Not because of heavy needles being inserted into my veins but because of the anxiety attacks I'd have for the iron testing. Back in those days the technicians would use thick needle pricks on our fingers which hurt more than the actual donations. I still have the needle holes on the inside of my arms and on very humid days, small blisters will pop up on my fingertips causing me to break into cold sweats. My ex-husband and I also found ourselves perusing donation stores and walking to work in clothing unsuitable for the harsh Colorado winters. This was my "rock bottom". I swore never to return and so now as I type my blogs on a lovely laptop, in a beautiful home, and next to my best friend and soul mate to whom God has given me a second chance - I realize that I have an amazing opportunity to fulfill my destiny; to be the writer and entertainer I was destined to be.
Destiny. Some people don't believe in it. I have to whole-heartedly disagree. I was a firm believer once in making my own path but since looking back at my 45 years, it's hard not to see a little destiny or what I like to call "magic hands" laying down some cards for me. I'll take that help now and gratefully acknowledge it. Hopefully, when I've reached the end of my road, I'll look back, smile, and say, "Yup, there was a whole lot of magic goin' on."